


Stolen Moments

by theskywasblue



Series: Summer of Love 2020 [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Frottage, Hand Jobs, Huddling For Warmth, Light Angst, M/M, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:46:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25773820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskywasblue/pseuds/theskywasblue
Summary: There were the barest signs of human occupation in the recent past: a discarded bedroll, a small portable stove, a lantern. Bucky nudged the crumpled blanket with the toe of his boot and a rat scrambled out, disappearing into the shadows along one wall, and hopefully through some unseen hole to the outside.“Must be the place.”“Charming,” Steve drawled, shutting the door.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Summer of Love 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1816525
Comments: 3
Kudos: 78





	Stolen Moments

**Author's Note:**

> At last, I have followed through on my promise to myself that I would one day write some Stucky. For my Summer of Love series, and the prompt "masturbation." (though it features only barely. I'm following the spirit, more than the letter.)

When Dernier had said that the rendezvous point was a _farm_ , Bucky had thought _house_ ; but apparently what Dernier had meant was _barn_ : a squat rectangle of stone and wood, half surrounded by the jagged remains of a fence, and penned in by a few unsteady-looking trees.

Maybe there had been a house to go along with it once; now, whatever remained on it was lost in the overgrown grass.

“Looks clear.” Bucky shouldered his rifle and began to work his way down out of the trees, still keeping a careful eye. Steve kept pace just a step behind him; head up, eyes wary.

“Did you see anyone else?” He asked.

“Nothing obvious.” Bucky stepped carefully over an exposed tree root. “But we are almost a day early.”

“Yeah. We made good time.” Steve came up alongside him, matching his pace as they moved out into the open, steady breaths rising into the cold air in clouds of silver mist. “You must be tired.”

Bucky didn’t change his pace, didn’t look over. “I’m alright.”

He hadn’t wanted to match with Steve, when they’d first drawn up the teams. It would have been smarter to go with Morita, or Dum Dum - but he couldn’t just let it go like that. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the others - he would have trusted any of the Howlies with his life - but no one could watch Steve’s back like he could. He had known it would mean that Steve might notice that Bucky didn’t sleep much, didn’t eat much, didn’t rest much - didn’t _need_ to; not since Azzano. The nightmares were one thing - Steve knew about those - but this was something else. Mostly, Bucky tried not to think about it. If he could stand, aim his rifle, hit his target, that was all that mattered; even if he didn’t always know exactly what was keeping him on his feet. And he tried to stay as much out of Steve’s way as he could while he did it.

They circled the building once, just to be safe. The main door that would have slid open to let animals in and out if there had been any, was chained shut with a heavy padlock, but a small side door, half-concealed by an oversized hedge only looked secure at a glance, and gave way with the gentlest of persuasion. Inside it was dark, full of the musty reek of animals long since gone, and there were the barest signs of human occupation in the recent past: a discarded bedroll, a small portable stove, a lantern. Bucky nudged the crumpled blanket with the toe of his boot and a rat scrambled out, disappearing into the shadows along one wall, and hopefully through some unseen hole to the outside.

“Must be the place.”

“Charming,” Steve drawled, shutting the door.

It wasn’t much of shelter, but they were glad for it an hour or so later, when the rain started, and the cold really set in.

The barn’s only window - small and high up - was boarded, but they kept the lantern low regardless. Bucky sat hunched inside his coat with his wind-up radio, scanning the frequencies, occasionally picking up idle chatter in French or German and pausing to listen for a few minutes before moving on. Steve sat a few feet away, against the wall and as close to the lanter as it was possible to get without curling it around himself like a cat, scratching something in a small sketchbook. Trying, Bucky thought, to watch Bucky without looking like he was doing any kind of watching.

“I can take the first watch,” Steve said, finally. “If you want to get some rest.”

“And leave you alone with the radio?”

Steve raised an eyebrow, “I’m alright with the radio.”

“You need to work on your French.”

Steve snorted. “I am. We can’t all have natural talent.”

Bucky opened his mouth, but snapped it shut before anything could slip out. Everything he might have said died bitter on his tongue. Maybe he was tired, after all. He felt raw and cold, gummy-eyed. Turning through the frequencies again, what faint voices he could find sounded like they were at the far end of a long tunnel. He adjusted the volume, which helped a little, and pulled back his hands so he could blow on his fingers.

“Why don’t you come sit here,” Steve said, picking up the blanket that lay unused next to him. He didn’t ever seem to feel much of the cold at all. “You’ll be warmer.”

Bucky had to bite the inside of his cheek to force himself not to move immediately. “Don’t think I should.”

“What’s that?”

_You know damned well_ Bucky wanted to say; but that was cruel, and made it sound like the blame was all on Steve, when it was half on Bucky too if not more.

“‘Cause we had an agreement, that’s why.”

Steve’s pencil hesitated above the page, then scratched a particularly vicious line. “Funny. The way I remember it, I specifically did _not_ agree.”

Bucky remembered it this way: _Steve, his jaw set tight, eyes dark and fierce, shoulders squared, hands - those same hands, which the serum hadn’t seemed to change - balled into tight, hard fists, saying “that’s not the way this is gonna go, Buck.”_

Okay, maybe it hadn’t been an _agreement_ as such, but it almost could be. All Bucky had to do was keep himself out of the way until Steve got on the right track. He’d been trying to do it for years, but this was the closest he’d ever managed, and it had mostly been without him doing anything at all.

“You know as well as I do -”

Steve snapped the sketchbook closed with a hard clap, and tossed it to the packed earth floor. “Christ Almighty Buck - we gotta have this conversation _now_? All I’m asking is for you to come sit with me awhile. Is that so wrong?”

His voice cracked, just a little, on the word _wrong_ ; enough to make Bucky’s heart clench, enough to make him think _asthma_ with a hard stab of panic. Except Steve didn’t have asthma anymore. He didn’t have his curved spine or his heart palpitations or his bad ear - any of it. What he did have was those same big, blue eyes and that certain way he stuck his lower lip out, just a little, when he was trying not to look hurt.

Bucky got up, picked up the radio, and crossed the barn to sit next to Steve, shoulder to shoulder.

“Sorry,” he said.

Steve sighed, draping the blanket around Bucky’s shoulders. “Don’t be sorry, alright? Just shut it for a while, and get some rest.”

Bucky wound his icy fingers in the coarse wool. “Sure thing, Cap.”

Steve dug an elbow into his ribs. “Smart-mouthing your commanding officer is grounds for a court martial, I’d bet.”

“You’d have to report me, first.”

Steve laughed, “Didn’t I tell you to shut it?”

Bucky shut his mouth, and his eyes, and woke later - though it was impossible to say exactly how much later - curled on the floor, to the sound of rain, drumming on the barn roof like horses' hooves.

Steve had put the light out, and the radio was silent. Bucky could feel Steve’s back against his own, hear Steve’s low, slow breathing in the darkness, over the sound of water leaking in from somewhere, puddling on the dirt floor.

So much for keeping watch.

Bucky shifted against the hard ground, letting the blood flow back into the arm pinned underneath his body. Steve grunted softly, but didn’t wake. He had always been a heavy sleeper - and warm; Bucky could feel the long line of him, all the way down his back to where their legs had tangled together beneath the blanket. If he rolled over now, pressed his nose to the back of Steve’s neck, he would probably smell the same as he always had: like lemon soap, old paper, and the graphite of salvaged pencil nubs. It would be so easy to put his arm through the front of Steve’s jacket, maybe up under that stupid, spangled uniform shirt and touch Steve’s warm skin…

With a bitten-off curse, Bucky shifted forward, just a little, and worked a hand down the front of his own pants, curling it around his cock and squeezing, dragging a rough, dry palm against the length of it without any kindness at all. A sharp discomfort mixed with the dull throb of pleasure, making Bucky grunt miserably. He loosened his grip and tried again, not so mean this time, opening the button on his pants to give himself more room. It still wasn’t much good, but it was at least _better_. He could feel the dull burn of arousal stoking in his belly as he dragged his thumb against the base, applying pressure. It would have been easier if he could have turned on his back; as it was, he could barely move his hand the way he wanted to without the awkward positioning fostering a hot ache in his shoulder. But too much movement and he’d risk waking Steve - heavy sleeper or not. He tried to block the discomfort out by focusing on Steve’s warmth beside him, instead; on the solid wall of his hack, the pressure of his leg slung over Bucky’s calf.

“You’re a real piece of work, Bucky Barnes.” The tired rasp of Steve’s sleep-thickened voice made Bucky grit his teeth. He went dead still beneath the blanket, even as his cock throbbed in his palm, traitorous. “You’re just gonna lay there and yank your crank while I’m right here. Like some kind of martyr.”

“No.” Bucky’s thumb skimmed over the head of his cock, like he’d forgotten how to control his hands, and Bucky was forced to choke back a groan. “Okay, yes.”

Steve muttered something sour under his breath and turned over, pulling Bucky up against his chest so easily that it made Bucky’s breath catch in dizzy, almost gleeful surprise.

“C’mere already,” he pushed Bucky’s hand out of the way and replaced it with his own. “That’s not even the way you like it.” Steve’s hand worked him slow, not too tight, with all the affection that Bucky hadn’t been able to summon for himself. “Better?”

Bucky nodded feverishly, chewing for a moment on the inside of his cheek, afraid that any attempt to speak would betray the ache of joy in his chest, that he’d give into the desire to sob in relief.

“I gotcha Buck, it’s alright.” Each slow stroke was a rush of pleasure, each time building just a little. Steve pressed his nose in behind Bucky’s ear and kissed his neck. “God Bucky, I’ve missed you so much. I’ve missed _this_.”

“Me too,” Bucky rasped, breathlessly, caught between wanting to push forward into Steve’s hand and back against the warmth of his body at the same time. “Fuck, Steve, me too. Sometimes I can hardly stand it.”

His hands twisted in the coarse blanket, his legs shifted restlessly, tangling it between them. Steve’s thumb pressed in, just below the head of his cock again and again, making his breath catch and pleasure burn at the base of his spine. Bucky grabbed ahold of Steve’s wrist, forcing his hand away, tossed the blanket off them both, and twisted around until they were face to face.

“Bucky - what?”

He planted a hand on Steve’s chest, “You still like it if I hold you down some?”

Steve’s eyes went wide in the dark, glassy and bright with the rush of arousal. “Yeah. Of course.”

Not that he could - not really. Even when Steve had been a wisp of a thing, he could still fight like hell; but Bucky pushed and Steve went, easy as anything, onto his back. Bucky longed for more light to see the flush in his cheeks, the pink shine of Steve’s licked-wet lips as he straddled Steve’s hips and pushed Steve’s shirt and jacket up under his armpits.

“Christ, look at you.” He pulled Steve’s pants out of the way, leaving the waistband tucked just below his balls as Steve’s cock rose eagerly into his hand, Steve shuddering underneath him. “All this, just for me.”

“ _Only_ you,” Steve agreed, breathless and dumb with how good it felt. He would promise Bucky the moon, as long as Bucky’s hand was on his cock; but Bucky would probably have done the same if the situation was reversed, so he couldn’t feel too done wrong over it.

There was too much height difference between them now for Bucky to get Steve pinned good and proper, but Bucky made his best effort, trapping one of Steve’s hands roughly at his side, and lining their cocks up between their bellies - the sensation of hot, soft skin against hot, soft skin sending Bucky rushing towards an embarrassingly fast finish, so that he had to bite his lip and screw his eyes closed to try and slow it down.

“Yeah Buck - that’s good. C’mon.” Steve squirmed against the hard-packed earth, one wrist twisting in Bucky’s gasp while the other hand gripped Bucky’s thigh for dear life, and his cock leaked messily between them, making Bucky’s movements slick and easy.

“You gonna come for me, Stevie?” Bucky panted, open-mouthed, doubling down on his pace, getting his handworking as a counterpoint as he felt his balls starting to tighten. “Gonna make a mess for me?”

Steve shuddered beneath him, a small, broken-off sound escaping his throat as he came. All it took to send Bucky over the edge after him was the feeling of all that hot slick between them, and the barest glimpse of it, painting Steve’s skin.

Bucky sprawled to the floor with a low grunt, half the tossed-aside blanket wedged under his back, and lay there, catching his breath in the dark as the sound of the storm outside filtered back into his brain. Steve rolled up against him, fingers teasing gently at the side of Bucky’s neck. He kissed Bucky’s cheek, then his mouth, deep and sweet, until Bucky’s chest ached dully from loving him too damn much.

“Should get cleaned up,” Bucky managed finally, even as he smoothed Steve’s mussed hair back from his forehead and kissed him again. “Just in case.”

“Not yet,” Steve mumbled, drowsily, eyes already closing. He was useless after any kind of fooling around - apparently super serum hadn’t changed that either. Bucky could have laughed. “Lemme have a couple of minutes, at least.”

“ _One_ minute,” Bucky agreed, tucking himself against Steve to ward off the cold. Or two minutes. Maybe ten. He wondered how many they could get away with.

-End-


End file.
